25 HarryxDraco Drabbles
by Yiji
Summary: [Harry x Draco] 25 short drabbles on the lovelife and trials of Harry and Draco. Ranging from fluff to angst and back, rating may go up [perhaps], may have HBP Spoilers. [These are starting to get long...] Drabble 8: Letter
1. Wrong Morning

**25 HarryxDraco Drabbles**

**By Yiji**

**Drabble 1 : Wrong Morning**

Everything was wrong.

Wrong, wrong, _wrong_.

But _Merlin_, how wrong everything was.

The sheets he woke up to, tangling around his legs and torso, weren't of the finest silk that money could buy. They were common and unrefined, and he muttered that they would probably scratch his skin terribly, and when he got out of bed he would most definitely find his epidermis lying amidst the crude cotton coverlets, like the snake of a skin.

The shower was pastel cream tiles (ugh!) and an ordinary showerhead that sprayed irritatingly forceful jets of water. And the taps would not synchronize the heat according to the weather inside the bathroom, they had to be done _manually_. How rudimentary, indeed.

The towels weren't soft, superior-quality weaves imported from Egypt, but average store-bought linens, probably purchased at a local bathroom-store. And they'd most likely scratch at his delicate skin again. Damn, at this rate, he'd be skinless soon.

The clothes he put on were too big and unsophisticated. The door handle was too high, the walls not the right color, and there were only eleven stairs to climb down (common wooden ones, not marble), instead of forty-two.

As he reached the kitchen, he wondered why the hell his pride was allowing him to walk about like a… like a _normal person_, instead of the distinguished individual that he was. And why he was _allowing_ himself to stoop down to this level of normality.

"'Morning, Draco," came the voice from the kitchen table (scrubbed cedar, ugh, how revolting!), and he was inundated in a sea of emerald, sable and wicked grins.

Oh...

Amazing how some mornings can appear so completely and utterly right.


	2. Slytherins Don’t Cuddle

**25 HarryxDraco Drabbles**

**By Yiji**

**Drabble 2 : Slytherins Don't Cuddle**

"No."

"Oh, come _on_, Draco. Just for a little bit."

"I have told you _once_, I will tell you again, Potter. I am not going to stay in bed with you and engage in post-coital cuddling."

"Why not?"

Draco disentangled himself from the tangle of limbs and burgundy blankets and fixed the mussed-looking Gryffindor with his trademark 'Malfoy-glare-of-contempt™'. "Because Slytherins don't cuddle. Slytherins are proud, noble people, with generations of unwavering reputations as cold-hearted leaders of the underworld. We are relentless in our emotions, and aren't weighed down by flippant ideas such as love and affection."

"That's not what I gathered a few minutes ago, when you seemed to be stating quite the opposite. Screaming, actually." Harry parried, brushing a lock of hair out of his eyes and giving Draco his most impious grin. The other boy turned an admirable shade of puce, before harrumphing and throwing his silver pillow at the raven-haired boy's face, which then proceeded to give a muffled cackle.

"For the final time, I am _not_ cuddling with you, you bloody git!" Draco spat, before climbing out of their bed and onto the wooden floor of their shared flat. He'd intended to do this in a very collected manner, but the moment his bare feet had touched the almost frozen floorboards, he gave what was undeniably a yelp and dove back into the bed. As he pulled the covers back up to his chin, he felt a familiar well-toned arm wrap itself around his waist and secure him to the spot with a vice-like grip. Heedless of the scowl on his face that could peel wallpaper, Harry placed a chaste kiss on the tip of Draco's nose, before burying his head in the paler boy's collarbone and giving a sigh of pure contentment.

"I told you, Slytherins don't cuddle," came Draco's voice again, the resolve in it wavering.

"No," Harry said, smiling against Draco's bare neck, "But Gryffindors do."


	3. Lame Excuses

**25 HarryxDraco Drabbles**

**By Yiji**

**Drabble 3 : Lame Excuses**

As Harry missed his mouth again that breakfast and copped a cheekful of oatmeal, he continued to plaster his attention on the Slytherin table. Or rather, the platinum-haired inhabitant of the particular table. As he did every morning, the Boy Who Lived racked his brains to try and formulate some semblance of an excuse to get up close to the other boy without giving any of his true intentions away. Not to the object of his affection, nor to anybody else who might've been watching.

There had been a close call with Ron. His flame-haired friend had seen Harry practically bore holes into their 'rival's' back the other day in Potions. Of course, he'd gotten away on the lame pretext that he thought he'd seen some pickled slug on the other boy's sleeve. Of course, Ron had a good snicker at that, and left him to it. Hermione had snorted only loudly enough for him to hear, but he knew she knew the real reason behind his staring. She probably had for a while now; nothing could escape that powerful noggin of hers.

And so now Harry had exactly six minutes left to make up a random (and plausible) excuse for making some sort of contact with Draco (not Malfoy anymore- at least, not in his inner monologue) before the Slytherin left the hall and would be out of contact for the rest of the weekend. Unless he went out of his way to search the castle for Draco. But then that would just look suss.

Nah.

He could say that there was a feather stuck in his hair from the morning mail. Then he'd be able to see if his hair really _was_ as soft as it looked. Ugh, maybe not, he heard that Draco was very fussy about his hair. He wouldn't want to mess it, anyway. Maybe he could 'accidentally' brush shoulders with him on the way out of the hall. After all, ever since Harry had returned from the holidays taller and with broader shoulders, Draco's sleekness and suppleness did nothing more that increase the nerve-endings on whatever part of his anatomy happened to be in contact. The shoulder… oh that would be nice. Too bad that the 'accidental brushing' could initiate a fistfight.

Darn. Back to the drawing board.

Too late Harry spotted Draco rise from his seat, wave off his usual crowd of followers, and exit the breakfast hall. Wiping the remainder of his badly-aimed breakfast on the tablecloth, he muttered a quick excuse to Ron and Hermione, before tripping over his feet twice in succession (which was by no means an easy feat) and managed to stumble out of the hall and down the corridor, sprinting fast as he tried to catch up, rounding the corner and- smashing straight into Draco.

"Ow! Potter! What the hell?" Draco shouted, trying to regain his composure even though he had given an obvious squeak of surprise. Harry had wanted to say sorry, apologise profusely and maybe melt into the floor with embarrassment. Instead, he grabbed Draco's tie, pulled him closer and trailed a long, languorous lick along Draco's bottom lip. When the other boy said nothing (the no-emotion-whatsoever-registered-on-his-face kind of nothing), Harry quickly released the green and silver tie and blurted the first thing that came to mind.

"You still had jam on your mouth from breakfast."

Damn. If that hadn't been the lamest excuse used to date, he didn't know what was. Unfortunately, Harry didn't have a chance to melt into the floor (as he so wished for at that moment), because Draco was pulling him into a mind-blowing, devastatingly good kiss that drove all the air out of his lungs.

"So did you," the blonde replied with a wide smile, and Harry couldn't help but grin back. Maybe his excuses weren't as lame as he thought. They seemed to work, at least.


	4. Like

**25 HarryxDraco Drabbles**

**By Yiji**

**Drabble 4 : Like**

"Do you like sugar quills?"

"Too sugary. They're annoying to eat."

Swig. Pass.

"Do you like pumpkin juice?"

"I prefer Butterbeer."

Swig. Pass.

Harry had taken to hiding himself in the astronomy tower on Saturday evenings. With his thoughts to preoccupy himself with, as well as a full bottle of Ogden's Firewhisky to pass the time. This wasn't so bad, he got an evening all to himself to think about his imminent death at the hands of Voldemort. And to get completely shitfaced in the process, but hey, it hadn't bother him.

Until Malfoy had stumbled across his reverie and messed it up in the usual Malfoy-style. Oh, there had been insults and shouts flung at each other, no doubt about it, for their enmity over the years at Hogwarts had guaranteed an encounter of barbs and hatred.

It was only when Malfoy, face reddened from the screaming and voice hoarse, had run out of insulting acronyms to throw at him and had regarded him with that _look_. It was drawn and haunted and frightened, as though he had searched the entire castle for an empty place to sit and be alone. To confess him fears and anguish and horrors to the darkness.

So Harry waved him over, shifted a little so that Malfoy could sit beside him, and offered him the only recently-opened bottle of Firewhisky. The paler boy had coughed and spluttered at the first delicate sip, Harry could see he wasn't used to the strong liquor. Taking back the glass container, Harry took a long draught, keeping his eyes riveted on the grey ones next to him. The mouthful was longer than he'd ever had, and perhaps just that little bit boastful, but as he felt the spirits burn down his throat and gave the boy beside him a crooked grin, the meek smile that replied had been well worth the discomfort.

So they passed the bottle back and forth. They made an unspoken game of it, one person asking the other a question, the other answering it, a swig of Firewhisky, and the bottle passed between them. It started out simply at first, then progressed to 'Do you like' questions. Harry conceded that his evening was getting better with every sip of the fiery drink, and every question he answered truthfully. Even though the answers seemed trivial, it felt like innumerable, small weights were being taken off his shoulders with each answer. And Draco – not Malfoy anymore, but Draco – wasn't such bad company, either. It was Harry's turn to ask a question now.

"Do you like Charms?" he asked, passing the Slytherin the now half-empty bottle and resuming his leaning on the cool stone of the tower wall.

"It's okay, but sometimes it gets boring, especially when it's a theory class." Draco answered. He took a large mouthful, as if the liquor were fortifying him, and exhaled slowly. Almost fearfully, he turned his grey towards Harry and gave a nervous swallow.

"Do you… like me?" Draco asked, the pink tinge in his cheeks the result of something quite other than the effect of the alcohol.

There was a few moments of silence. Not the uncomfortable, eerie silence that Harry would have expected something like this to generate. Instead, it was a thoughtful, calm silence while he regarded the other boy.

"Yes."

Swig. Pass.


	5. At Last

**25 HarryxDraco Drabbles**

**By Yiji**

**Drabble 5 : At Last**

_At last… My love has come along…_

He stared intently into the darkness beyond his paltry excuse for a shelter. There was no doubt about it, now. This was war.

…_My lonely days are over… _

"_What are you doing?" he had asked, during the golden days before the war.  
"Listening to music." The other had replied, eyes closed and that smile that he cherished, he loved so much, playing slightly on his lips. "This is my favourite song." The muggle woman continued her crooning on the radio, accompanied by the slight sway of scarred hands._

_And life is like a song…_

The continuous crouching on the brittle ground made his legs scream for rest, but he knew that he could not afford to let his guard down. The Order was counting on him more that ever, especially since the fighting had begun in earnest. The pitch sable of the evening almost taunted him, trying to lull him into a sense of security that he didn't have.

…_At last… The skies above are blue…_

"_Your muggle singer doesn't know what she's singing about." He'd mocked, his sneer more playful than malicious. "The sky is blue because of light refractions, not because she's in love."_

The sky hadn't been blue for so long, these days. It was grey with ash and smoke from fires, and oft punctured with the tortured screams that usually accompanied battles. In essence, the sky hadn't truly been blue for him ever since he'd left the one place that made him feel welcome and happy. When was the last time he'd seen the sun, golden and warm, instead of tainted red with the blood of battle?

…_My heart was wrapped up in clover… The night I looked at you…_

"_Dance with me, Draco!" Harry had laughed, stretching out his arms and enveloping him in his gruff, affectionate bear-hug.  
"You're completely mad, Potter!" Draco laughed back, hands buried in the moth-eaten jumped of the taller boy, face tucked against the skin of his neck, breathing in the scent of sandalwood and apple liquorice and wind._

Of course, the Dark Lord had immediately taken him in like the prodigal son he was supposed to portray. That hadn't stopped him from showing his disappointment, though, at failing to kill the old man. Now he was positioned near the front-lines, ready to be flung into the next battle. But Draco had strict instructions from the Order. Open up a passage amongst the Death Eaters, crumble their defences from within. The lives of hundreds, maybe even thousands, depended on his actions in the upcoming days. And he had to make sure he didn't fuck this up.

…_I found a dream that I could speak to… A dream that I could call my own…_

_Words of tenderness and longing murmured, as the two swayed in unison to the slow melody. The hand pressed against his back was a completely new sensation to him. Instead of cold and commanding, as all the others had been, it was warm and supportive and wonderfully loving. And all he could do is flatten himself deeper into the verdigris sweater and wish that the golden afternoon would never end._

Damn, it was cold. Even the stars and the moon seemed to be hiding from the epic battle that would ensue in the near future. He gave a small smile, more an upturn of the corners of his mouth than anything. Harry and he used to gaze at the stars back in school, in the secrecy of the Astronomy Tower. He'd held Draco's hand on the pretence that it was cold and needed warming up. Potter had never been good at excuses. Back in the days when they were still innocent, and he'd just begun to learn how to truly smile…

…_I found a thrill to press my cheek to… A thrill that I have never known…_

_He'd never told anybody that he was afraid. Malfoys weren't supposed to be afraid. They were the pillars of bureaucratic society, and it wasn't in their blood. But that afternoon, he'd pressed his cheek against Harry's, and whispered his dread and of the nightmares that plagued him each night. Of the fear that they would be parted, and never see each other again. Harry had held him closer, placed tender kisses on his eyes and temples, and had assured him that in the end, not even a pack of rabid Hungarian Horntails could keep him away from seeing Draco again. And instead of anger, those words had brought him comfort, something he'd found in plenty while being around the Boy Who Lived._

The night was getting blacker, if that were possible. Suppressing a tired moan, Draco unfolded his legs and sat stiffly on the rocky floor, wand drawn at the ready. During the few skirmishes, he'd fooled his fellow Death Eaters that he'd used the _Avada Kedavra_ with no spoken word, instead of placing well-aimed full-body binds and subtly tying white ribbons to their ankles. The Order would find the ones he left alive, and their numbers didn't diminish as much as the Dark Lord would think. Strategic planning that was damn good, but then again, Dumbledore had never failed them yet, had he? Except… how much longer would this last? Would Harry remain unscathed through the entire thing, knowing his pig-headed Gryffindor pride to go barging through the thick of battle headfirst? Would a fellow Death Eater discover what he'd been doing, and the plans crumble? And would he ever see Harry again…?

… _You smile… You smile… Oh, and then the spell was cast…_

His eyelids itched. Well, that couldn't be expected, days without showering were unavoidable in wars, and he was covered in ash and dirt from head to toe, constantly irritated. It was when the itch moved from his eyes down his cheeks, landing on shaking hands gripping the scarred wood of his wand, that he realised they were tears. He must look a sight, filthy and tear-streaked. But that mattered little, for when the battle began, he had to do his part. And then, only then, he would be one step closer to Harry Potter, the one destined to end the war, the one who had kissed him in the empty, sunlit apartment and announced himself as The Boy Who Loved Him. He'd never replied, but Harry had known, smiling that glorious smile and emerald eyes flashing. He had known. Damn it, Draco was determined to live through this fucking mess of a war and tell Harry once and for all what six years of shy glances and secret meetings had developed, and what war had made him truly realize. And perhaps, once that was said and done… they would listen to that song again together, and find each of those words to ring utterly true.

… _And here we are in heaven… For you are mine at last…_


	6. Hands

**25 HarryxDraco Drabbles**

**By Yiji**

**Drabble 6 : Hands**

Harry potter had immensely interesting hands. Not interesting in a bad way, of course, simply speaking in an observatory manner. There was nothing wrong with observing, was there? Of course not, especially during a study break, right?

They weren't at all like his own hands. Draco turned his left one over again and inspected it without much enthusiasm against the cream pages of his textbook. Pale, thin, beautiful in their slenderness. Hands that had never done a scrap of hard labour in their life, and that spoke of his good breeding in volumes. Harry's hands, on the other hand (he almost grimaced at this horrible self-inflicted pun) had character. They were darker, like his skin, and broader. The fingers were shorter than his, the palms roughened and the pads calloused from Quiddich and menial labour.

Draco sometimes wished he had hands like Harry's. They were strong hands, that mirrored the disposition of their owner. Strong and brave, willing to work, hands that could destroy a mountain and build an empire out of nothingness.

Almost instinctively, Harry's hand reached out underneath the table and laced fingers with his own. Draco started, giving the young man beside him a look of confusion. The Gryffindor's expression never wavered from his look of absorbed concentration, eyes raking slowly over the Potions ingredients in his book.

Draco smothered the smile that threatened to crack his jaw and resumed staring at nothing in particular in his book. Harry's hands were those that could heal, that allowed him to surface from the depths of despair and see the light ahead. They were comfort and reassurance and spoke of love, respect and the feeling of home in every touch. And Harry had deemed his own, pale, treacherous ones worthy of being held.

He was glad that, even though their hands might be completely different, they fitted together so well.


	7. Snape's Petition

**25 HarryxDraco Drabbles**

**By Yiji**

**Drabble 7 : Snape's Petition**

Draco had told him once that when he was a little boy, Crabbe and Goyle had come to his house to play often. On one particularly wet afternoon, they had dared Draco to put a pinch of salt on a slug and watch what happened. Of course, they'd laughed raucously, and Draco being at a young, naïve age, had joined in their merriment. However, Harry had been the only person he'd told that when their afternoon had ended, Draco had shut himself in his room and cried over the terrible fate of the poor slug, which had been entirely his fault. After all, hadn't he done that just to impress his two new friends?

Harry doubted that this childhood incident wouldn't have an impact on his ex-arch-enemy-turned-boyfriend. He was rather surprised, however, when during a lone study period in the library sheet of parchment was unceremoniously wedged between his nose and his copy of _Unfogging the Future – Secondary Edition_.

Really, he should have seen this coming.

"What's this?" he asked, scanning Draco's neat script with his eyes. The blonde sat down opposite him and sniffed.

"It's a petition I'm going to give to Professor Snape. I need you to sign it."

"Draco, this petition is against the use of slugs in Potions."

"Not exactly." Draco elaborated, lacing his delicate fingers together. "It's against the use of slugs in Potions which haven't died of natural causes."

_Was Draco growing morals? Dear Lord, it is the end. _"But slugs are essential for the difficult sixth-year potions. Plus I don't think Snape will enjoy being nagged by his star pupil."

"He won't have much of a say if the petition is signed by more than two hundred individuals belonging to the same organisation. So far I've got almost a hundred and fifty signatures using death-threats and intimidation. But your signature would really help the cause."

Harry chewed this thought over. A chance of sticking it to Snape, why not? "What's your 'organisation' called, then?"

"The 'Save Poor Animals Submitted To Inhumane Carnage' organisation."

Harry choked on his saliva. Honestly, his use of acronyms was worse than Hermione's! "There is absolutely no way I am signing something with that as its name."

Draco set his jaw and narrowed his eyes to slits. "Potter, if you don't sign this petition right now, I swear I will go on a voluntary, everlasting vow of chastity. And I'm bringing you to hell with me."

Harry grit his teeth and managed to send the smug-looking boy across from him the _'I-can't-believe-you're-doing-this-to-me'_ look, the _'this-is-something-I'd-only-do-for-love-and-you-dammit' _look, the _'there-is-now-way-in-hell-I'd-give-up-great-sex-over-this'_ look and the _'great-use-of-acronyms-by-the-way'_ look simultaneously, while scratching his name underneath a very wobbly 'Dennis Creevey'. He deserved a medal for putting up with the whims of his boyfriend.

Harry drew the line at wearing the badges, though.


	8. Letter

**Drabble 8 : Letter**

Harry was inked up to the elbows and feeling rather put out. He read his messy script on the parchment in front of him, and then with a dejected sigh he crumpled the paper into a ball and threw it on the other side of the room. The small projectile made a soft 'thunk' noise as it made contact with the heaped pile of rejected parchment balls, and fell forlornly to the floor.

"Merlin... Why the hell am I doing this?" Harry moaned in exasperation, more to himself than anything. Their one-month anniversary was tonight, and Draco would be over his apartment by Floo any moment and Harry, of course, had decided to do the romantic Gryffindor thing and write him a love letter. Trouble was that Harry, never having received a love letter himself, had no idea how to go about writing something like this. It was inconceivable!

"Think Zen! Think Zen! Relax, focus, and write what you really feel!" squealed the miniature crystal Buddha paperweight on his desk, a Christmas gift from Hermione last year to help him with his lack of writing finesse with his Auror reports. Feeling decidedly more un-Zen than ever, Harry picked up the little glass globule of gut, and hurled it across the room into the waste-paper basket to join the rest of the trash. The indignant squeaks that followed only aggravated him more, but at least the little fat bastard wasn't mocking him anymore. Zen my arse...

"Harry?" came Draco's voice behind him, and Harry promptly fell off his chair in shock. '_FUCK!_' he thought desperately. _'He's going to hex my privates off for not being able to write even a passable sentence, and we hadn't even done the dirty horizontal tango yet! Life hates me!'_

Draco had been meaning to say something along the lines of 'why are your arms covered in ink?', but deemed it far more amusing to watch Harry's face go through its minor epileptic fits of silent panic. But once the initial shock of his (slightly) early arrival seemed to wear off, Harry sprang into action, seized a hold of his (rather abused) quill, and grabbed Draco's hand.

"I've never been good at writing letters." Harry mumbled, as he scrawled quickly on the palm of the blond's hand. "So this'll have to do instead."

He returned the aforementioned appendage to its owner, who looked at it with mild curiosity. A slow grin spread over Draco's face, before he took Harry's face between his hands and kissed him long and hard. The ink, still wet from the rushed writing, would leave a hastily-written mark on the other's face, and yet, later there wouldn't be any hurry to wash off the lightly-smudged and reciprocated "UOY EVOL I".


End file.
